


you're the next one

by Serpents_Cradle



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Final, Alcohol, Alex Ovechkin is a Stanley Cup Champion, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Genital Piercing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nicke Deserves Nice Things, Porn with Feelings, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 00:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serpents_Cradle/pseuds/Serpents_Cradle
Summary: He looks over at Sasha, whose eyes are wide and wild as he reaches out to fistbump Lars, the space where his missing incisor is obvious even from this angle because he's smiling so big. Nicke's heart seems to ping at the sight, and if he wasn't numb from fear and adrenaline he might feel the warmth flood his face all the way down his chest.--“You're the fucking next one,” he breathes, and Nicke's suddenly so awake and aware. “After me, I give it to you, baby.”





	you're the next one

**Author's Note:**

> written at three am, like all the best things are. beta'd by @kaeriot.
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own anyone mentioned or depicted. please remember that rpf is fictional. Don't go and harass nhlers about their love lives over fic.

It comes in short breaths, adrenaline pressing against Nicke's heart and tongue and he feels himself yell before he hears it, before he can even process what's happened.

The game clock reads 7:37, and he knows that's more than enough time for this game to go to shit, but the blood rushing in his ears makes it matter so much less. He leans back, hears the jeers from the Vegas crowd and stares straight up at the scoreboard above them, but for some reason it's like he _knows_. There's a part of him that still chants _next shift next play don't blow the lead_ but it's been ten fucking years and he doesn't think he can hold on much longer.

He looks over at Sasha, whose eyes are wide and wild as he reaches out to fist-bump Lars, the space where his missing incisor is obvious even from this angle because he's smiling so big. Nicke's heart seems to ping at the sight, and if he wasn't numb from fear and adrenaline he might feel the warmth flood his face all the way down his chest.

But he doesn't, so it doesn't matter. Trotz rattles off his number for the center face-off, and as he slides over the boards his heart leaps into his chest again and suddenly Business Nicke is back. The hope in his chest is flushed out when the Swedish ice in his veins comes to surface, but he doesn't let go.

The clock winds down further.

Nicke loses himself in his shift, in the hiss of skates on ice and the profanities from his wingers and the clack of stick on puck. His heart tells him to go for the goal, to bury his worries in the desert sand, but he doesn't. He knows their game now is to play keep-away and run down the time until it's _finally over_.

He sauces one to Sasha, whose eyes barely meet his before he fires the shot, but it deflects off a pad and the roar in the arena ebbs just loudly enough Nicke forgets to listen.

His shift ends too soon, and even though his breaths are lead-heavy he doesn't care. He can't feel anything but hunger for the win, to finally run his thumb over _his name_ on the cup and make dream into reality.

When Vegas pulls Fleury from the net, their line is over the boards in a second, and they're all ready, Nicke is so ready and—

And it's over, almost too soon, and they've won. They've won, and Sasha is crashing into him and they're all crashing into each other and he's pretty sure he's crying. His hand is fucking killing him and he can practically hear TJ's gross sobs already, but it doesn't matter. They fucking _won_.

Sasha pushes him off and away from the group and presses his forehead to Nicke's, his face red with a pure, childish joy.

“You're the fucking next one,” he breathes, and Nicke's suddenly so awake and aware. “After me, I give it to you, baby.”

\--

If Nicke's honest with himself, he doesn't remember much after that. He does, however, remember the next morning, limbs sleep-heavy and head pounding as he rolls over to face away from the light of the window. His hand is throbbing, and he remembers it now, wishing to himself he'd spent a moment or two to address it before their celebration, but—

Oh.

It takes him a moment to place Sasha's face in his bleary-eyed stupor, the creases around his eyes and mouth less obvious as he dozes. Unfortunately, after nearly fifteen years of looking at it, he can't possibly forget his face, even when it's been softened with sleep. Nicke thinks for a second that he doesn't deserve to see his captain like this, but he shoves it down deep before he can dwell on it.

He's still wearing his clothes from the night before, and he's fairly certain he smells like a week-old Subway sandwich left to ferment in booze, but at least he knows he didn't do anything foolish while he was drunk on champagne and high on a win. _A win_ , he remembers, and a sleepy smile graces his lips.

The cup sits in the corner of their shared hotel room, mostly shadowed in the early morning sun, but he can see from this angle the place where their names will be engraved. He sits up slightly, probably to look more closely, but he jumps in shock when he feels a calloused hand on his hip. Nicke's head whips over so fast he feels his own hair smack him in the face.

He's greeted by a set of ice-blue eyes, heavily lidded by sleep but still as intense as ever. Nicke wants to speak, wants to make some light-hearted chirp that will diffuse the tension between them, but he doesn't get the chance because one second he's opening his mouth and the next Sasha is _on him_ , rough hands on his face and lips pressed against Nicke's. 

Nicke feels himself tense, every joint in his body locking up before he realizes he can still taste the alcohol on Sasha's lips and he's kissing back before he even notices. It's like his body knows even if his head doesn't, and what his mind doesn't know his heart sure as hell does.

They stay like that for a little bit, Nicke bent awkwardly and half propped up on his elbow while Sasha twists at the waist to lean up into him. Nicke doesn't mind, and he's pretty sure Sasha doesn't either if the soft sounds he makes when Nicke runs his thumb over the soft spot beneath his chin are any indication.

It doesn't last, though, because all too soon Sasha is rolling his hips into Nicke's thigh, and even _Nicklas Backstrom, Stanley Cup champion_ isn't immune to the pleading look Sasha gives him when he pulls back. He huffs out a sigh and buries his face in Sasha's neck instead.

He groans softly against Nicke’s shoulder when he slides his hand between them. Nicke attempts to undo Sasha's belt blindly with his bad hand before giving up and pulling away in frustration so he can see what the hell he's doing. Sasha takes pity on him, though, and lifts his hips off the bed obediently so Nicke can get his jeans and briefs beneath the swell of his ass.

Sasha's cock is warm and firm beneath his grip, accented by the cool metal of his piercing. It is a stark contrast to the rest of him in a way that's somehow perfectly Alex, and though Nicke's seen the piercing plenty in locker rooms, he's never gotten the chance to really appreciate it. 

Nicke smiles against Sasha's neck when he bites down gently, admiring the way the muscles there flex when he runs his thumb over the head. He keeps his grip loose at first, his own pleasure forgone for the time being as long as he gets to keep hearing the sounds Sasha's making.

He never would have guessed that Sasha was quiet, but the aborted strings of Russian being whispered against his hair that he understands most but not all of is a pleasant surprise. Nicke finds he especially likes the soft hiss he pulls out of Sasha when he tugs lightly on the piercing.

“Kolya,” he whispers, and the sound goes straight to Nicke's cock. He thinks absently that he'd like to hear it again, preferably somewhere with better soundproofing.

“I'm here, Alex,” Nicke murmurs back, voice soft and encouraging as he leans back up to press their lips together again. It's more a minute or two of shared breath than a proper kiss, but he doesn't care. It was Sasha, and that was all he needed.

Nicke closes his eyes and tightens his grip, and soon enough Sasha bites down on Nicke's shoulder and _oh_ , the sound that punches its way out of Sasha's chest is nearly enough to make Nicke come right there.

Alex shudders as he streaks his stomach and Nicke's hand with his release, kissing apologetically at the mark he's made on Nicke's shoulder. Nicke strokes Sasha through his orgasm until he's hissing at the overstimulation, curling his hand around Nicke's wrist gently.

Looking back, Nicke doesn't know what possessed him to do it, but he carefully extracts his hand from between them and licks experimentally at the come coating his fingers. It isn't quite what he was expecting, but it isn't bad, at the tiny hitch in Sasha's breath at the sight is well worth the slight bitterness. 

He reaches down again to undo his own jeans but Sasha beats him to the punch, the neediness from earlier replaced with the lazy arrogance that seemed to be half of his personality. He looks Nicke in the face as he pulls his cock out of his underwear and begins to stroke, and the intensity in his gaze makes Nicke's mouth go dry more than the hand on his dick.

It isn't long before Nicke is coming, letting out a shaky breath as warmth fills his belly and extends out to the rest of him. Sasha hums and wipes his hand off on a spare pillow before leaning in again, capturing Nicke's lips and relaxing completely. It's easier this time, the brush of Sasha's tongue more therapeutic than shocking, and Nicke lets it wash over him. Sasha pulls away after a moment and readjusts so he can lean his head softly on Nicke's chest.

His headache is catching up with him again, now that the afterglow is wearing off, but he finds he doesn't really care. He's content to stay with Sasha until his alarm goes off and he has to go back to being Nicklas Backstrom and not Nicke, and it's clear that Sasha feels the same way. They can sort out whatever the hell this is later. For the first time in a while, his mind is quiet.

For now, he tangles his fingers in the short strands of Sasha's hair, presses a wayward kiss to his forehead, and lets himself doze.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr at [@evgenismalkin](https://evgenismalkin.tumblr.com)!


End file.
